


Coping Mechanisms

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3967735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I picked you up at a <i>funeral</i>.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coping Mechanisms

“Ohhh, I am the worst person alive.“ Jemma presses the heels of her hands to her eyes as she rocks back and forth.

“I thought you were great, actually.”

She sends Grant Ward a look that, she feels, communicates precisely how _not amused_ she is. He goes on smirking. It’s kind of hard to go on hating him what with that face and those abs and the way the blanket is just hiding all the essentials, but _not_ the dark trail of hair that leads down to the essentials, and just seeing it makes her feel tight again. (For the record, he was significantly better than “great.”)

“I picked you up at a _funeral_ ,” she points out. “At what was basically your father’s funeral!”

“First of all,” he says, “if that had been my actual father’s funeral, I’d have had sex on the _grave_. He’s not a great guy,” he adds when he sees her shocked reaction. “And - I say this as nicely as possible - you did not ‘pick me up.’” He climbs out of the bed, giving her a wonderful view of his backside. It is just as pleasing to the eye as his front is.

“You don’t have to spare my feelings. I’m well aware that I’m a terrible person.” And more terrible by the second, seeing as she’s taking her time enjoying the view.

He faces her again as he pulls on his boxers, giving her a look at his amused grin. “You’re adorable.”

“I get the feeling I should be insulted.”

His grin sharpens and he comes back to the bed to drop a kiss on her lips. “As the only person in this room who’s had professional training in the art of seduction, I think I can safely say that _I_ was the one who picked _you_ up.” Another kiss stops her protests, this one longer than the first. “And don’t worry about the timing. John would’ve been proud.”

From her few encounters with John Garrett, she has to say he’s right. The man was an odd balance of crassness and chivalry. He saved her life the first time they met, and brushed off her profuse thanks with a slap to her rear. Coming from anyone else, she would have been deeply insulted and hated them forever, but John Garrett had charisma. Not a lot, mind you, but enough to keep him from being gutted years ago. Even after that very unpleasant first meeting, she was considering joining a top secret project he was head of, just because he asked her to.

“About that project,” Grant says. The topic comes so close to her thoughts, she worries she’s spoken aloud. “Were you getting field training for that?”

“I only just started. Why?” She thinks she manages very well at not sounding forlorn that he’s put his shirt back on. (She may be a horrible person, but she was kind of hoping for another few rounds.)

“You have medical training?” he calls over his shoulder as he heads into the bathroom.

“Not much,” she says, confused. “I’m not certified, but in a pinch … Why?”

She’s not sure he can hear her with the water running. She considers following him and answering again. She also considers just getting dressed herself. These are _his_ quarters. If he considers their encounter over, she should really be the one to leave. In the end, she’s glad she doesn’t do either because another specialist from the funeral comes through the door seconds later.

“Whoa!” he yells, seeing her. Though not much of her. She’s in the process of burying herself beneath the blankets before he speaks. “ _Seriously_ , Ward?” he demands, and it sounds like he’s turned to face the wall. Not that Jemma’s going to look to find out.

From the bathroom, Grant calls, “Jemma, Trip. Trip, Jemma. AKA, hot scitech girl from the funeral.”

“I did _not_ call you that,” Trip says quickly.

“It’s quite all right,” she says into the blankets. “No worse than picking someone up at a funeral.”

“Yeah, _Ward_.”

“Told you,” Grant says, sounding pleased. “Hey, tell her what John would’ve thought.”

“His exact words would have been … actually, I’m not gonna say his exact words because _I_ am a gentleman.”

Grant scoffs. He sounds much closer now; he’s definitely returned to the room. She really hopes it’s him she feels sitting on the edge of the bed.

“But yeah, he’d be super proud. He’s probably looking up at you, smiling, saying, ’that’s my boy,’ to all the other bastards down in hell.”

A shaft of light breaks into her sanctuary and is quickly blocked up by her dress and underthings. “You wanna get dressed and take that lack of medical certification into the field?” Grant asks. “See what it can really do?”

“She’s coming with?” Trip asks. He doesn’t sound annoyed at the prospect of dragging an unvetted biochemist into the field, merely curious.

“If she wants.”

“Where are we going, theoretically?” Jemma asks, distracted. She’s having a terrible time with her bra. “And why would SHIELD send _me_ instead of someone with real training? And,” she adds, realization breaking through at the same moment she gets her bra clasped the correct way, “why would they be sending the two of you out _now_? Shouldn’t you both be on bereavement leave?”

There’s a heavy silence. From the way the bed shudders, she’s fairly certain Grant and Trip are conducting a conversation, a very heated one, entirely through facial expressions and hand gestures.

She gets her dress on well enough that everything’s covered - anything more can only be done once she’s standing up - and so finally comes out. Both men go immediately still, looking like children caught doing something naughty. It’s kind of cute.

“Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” she asks.

Grant turns on the spot, curling one leg up under him on the bed so he can face her. “SHIELD doesn’t exactly know what we’re doing.”

“And they definitely wouldn’t give it the okay,” Trip adds.

“Hence the not knowing,” Jemma surmises.

“Exactly.” Grant’s hand has moved the short distance from his leg to hers.

Even with the blankets between them, she can’t help the charged feeling his touch elicits. Just a short while ago this man seemed determined to run his fingers over every inch of her, and she was more than amenable to that idea. She still is, to be honest.

He keeps his eyes locked on hers when he says, sounding almost gentle despite the words, “We’re going to kill the man who killed Garrett.”

“…Oh.” She probably should’ve expected that, to be honest.

“You don’t have to come,” Trip says. “You’d just sit on the plane-”

“We’re gonna steal a plane,” Grant says with a little shrug.

“-and if I happen to get hurt or shot or lose a limb or something, you’ll make sure I don’t bleed out before we get somewhere that a real doc can see me.”

She lifts a brow. “You’re so sure it’ll be _you_ who’s hurt and not Grant?”

Grant laughs warmly and takes her hand. “Trip’s a certified field medic. He just hates going alone on missions with me because-”

“Because you are _terrible_ with injured people!” Trip yells. “If a little kid came to you with a broken leg, you’d probably tell him to walk it off.”

Jemma can’t help but giggle. It’s not even the words, it’s her own mental image of Grant’s face when presented with an injured child he has no idea what to do with.

He squeezes her hand gently. Right. They did have a question for her.

Her first impulse is to say no. An unsanctioned mission when she’s not even qualified to be on a _sanctioned_ one? There’ll be all kinds of hell to pay for anyone involved in this mess, she’s sure of it. And revenge … well, revenge has never seemed the reasonable course to her. But then she’s never lost a father.

She looks at Grant, remembers the way he looked when they first met. “He saved my life,” she said at the time, so lost in her own grief that she simply had to give it voice, even if no one was listening. John Garrett saved her life and now he was gone. It seemed so unfair.

“Me too,” came the answer, and it was the first glimpse she had of Grant. He was so … so _lost_. And she knew when he said that Garrett had saved him, he meant in a completely different way than Garrett had her.

Jemma can only imagine, from what he said about his real father minutes ago, how badly it must hurt to have lost the only worthwhile role model in his life. She at least has a father who is good and kind. Grant had to find a new one after his natural one failed. And now he’s back to having only the worse of the two.

“Garrett was a good man,” she says quietly.

It was his idea that she strive to enter the field. He thought she had what it took and he was going out of his way to help her get there, even securing a place for her on his secret project. Which, she’s well aware, she shouldn’t even know about. But he wanted her to have that motivation. “You just need the right incentive,” he used to say.

“What about the man who killed him?” she asks.

“Arms dealer,” Trip says. “Deals in people too sometimes.”

“So scum of the earth?” she asks, her eyes still on Grant.

“Oh yeah.”

She squeezes Grant’s hand and hopes she won‘t regret this _too_ much. “How long do I have to change?”


End file.
